


Correspondence Amorosa

by ElysianStars



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysianStars/pseuds/ElysianStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of letters between Zevran Arainai and his beloved Grey Warden, throughout the events of Awakening (because the one letter we see in canon simply isn't enough).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Correspondence Amorosa

**Author's Note:**

> Contains deliberately terrible sex poetry. I regret nothing.

Greetings from Antiva!

I would prefer to be where you are, my sweet. Antiva is so dull without you to brighten it. Even with the Crows trying to hunt me down, this place lacks the excitement of being at your side. Ah, well. I expect the Guildmaster will agree to meet me soon. Or maybe I should kill him. What do you think?

I hear the darkspawn have still not gone away? They are like houseguests who overstay their welcome, no? I am saddened you have to deal with such business without me. I must deal with the Crows, but when I return to you, not even sharp razors will be able to separate us!  
Until then, you remain in my dreams. Especially the naughty ones.

Yours always,  
Z.

 

Hail from Ferelden, favoured playground of the darkspawn.

I've arrived at Vigil's Keep now. Instead of being greeted by fellow Grey Wardens, as anticipated, I found the place overrun by – yes, more darkspawn. So, houseguests couldn't be more appropriate a term. Work continues on scouring the blood from every surface.

I imagine that by the time you read this, you'll have resolved the situation, but I'd vote for killing him. Perhaps his replacement will be less aloof, and if not, you can repeat the process until a Guildmaster emerges who suits you better. If you hoped for a more politic suggestion than that, you have asked the wrong man, but I suspect you did not.

You know, if you elaborated upon those dreams, I'd keep them in mind for our reunion. There's a fine bed in my chambers which looks like it could withstand all kinds of depraved antics.

With love,  
your Warden.

 

Greetings from Antiva!

Ah, what a terrible welcome. And here I pictured you sitting on a dais, draped in furs and velvet, while adoring subjects knelt at your feet.

Indeed, I have resolved things and the old Guildmaster is no more. His predecessor did seem to be reasonable, but then...things happened, and I ended up fleeing our meeting with a poisoned arrow in my side. Do not worry, though. During training, all Crows take miniscule doses of poisons, to build a tolerance so we can easily work with them. Of course, some nobles adopt the same tactic to safeguard themselves, meaning there is a never-ending cycle of different substances going in and out of fashion. Either I was fortunate or the Crows were sloppy on this occasion, since it seems they chose one which had less than the desired effect. And I am safe enough now to write this letter.

Well, I have heard stories about mages using their powers creatively in the bedroom... Do you, for example, know the tale of a man who could conjure a mirror image of himself, so that his lovers were lavished with twice as much attention? Or the spell which allows one to bind and pleasure someone with magical appendages? Please do tell me there's truth in that.

Yours always,  
Z.

P.S. I've also heard about some sort of 'electricity trick', but alas, couldn't get the details.

 

Hail from Ferelden, where even an elf may rise to become an arl.

No adoring subjects, I'm afraid, although the nobles have sworn fealty to me (with varying degrees of sincerity). So far I've conscripted three new Wardens: a runaway mage, one of Howe's sons who was sneaking around the estate, and our old friend Oghren, who weathered the Joining better than anyone else I've seen. Probably because darkspawn blood was one of the least noxious things he'd drunk that week.

In case you run into further trouble, enclosed with this is another document. Present it to whoever you choose, and it promises that in return for granting you aid, the Hero of Ferelden – or Warden-Commander, or Arl of Amaranthine, whichever title impresses them best – will owe some future boon. Just in case. What good is having political weight, if you can't throw it around occasionally?

I can't say I've heard those stories before, but I suppose spells of that nature must exist. Outside of the Circle, since templars frown on anything that might bring more mages into the world (though they're oddly permissive when it comes to spells that set people alight – I studied those at my leisure). I'd certainly be happy to look into it. Very happy to.

With love,  
your Warden.

 

Greetings from Antiva!

Your timing could not have been more perfect, _mi amor_. The situation has gotten rather out of hand, and your letter of aid has already been put to use. Still, this will make an entertaining story at some later point!

I'm afraid the previous address you were writing to may no longer be convenient. Once I secure a new one, I will write again and inform you.

Yours always,  
Z.

 

Greetings from Antiva!

Things have calmed down slightly now. If you address future letters to 'Emil', at the Thief and Lyre tavern in the town of Rialto, they should reach me. The Guildmaster here is not so observant as the one in Antiva City.

As for the subjects of your last letter, how terrible to spend each day surrounded by criminals and drunken dwarves, knowing you could instead be idling away the hours with a handsome, devoted man like myself. You poor thing.

By means of consolation, a gift. It caught my eye, and I believe it would suit you – the blue and silver fits with your official Grey Warden colours, does it not? Though I will always maintain that you look best when wearing nothing but myself.

Yours always,  
Z.

 

Hail from Ferelden, which feels entirely too far away.

I've spent the last few weeks trudging through a swamp, trapped in the Fade, and then venturing into dwarven ruins to kill broodmothers. Whatever you're up to in Antiva, I wish I was there instead of here.

That sounds rather melancholy, doesn't it? My apologies. Some nobles tried to kill me recently, accompanied by a few of your ex-colleagues. Needless to say, they were even less successful than you. I do hope the price on my life was higher, this time – if you come across any caches of Crow documents, would you mind checking? For the sake of my vanity.

Thank you for the gift, it's beautiful. As soon as I'm invited to a nice, peaceful event with no chance of riots or backstabbing – and I pray that will happen someday – I look forward to showing it off.

With love,  
your Warden.

 

Greetings from Antiva!

Sadly I have been involved less with documents and more with general bloodletting, and the Archive of the Crows is a formidable place. My professional opinion is that anyone who bid less than five hundred thousand _andris_ for your life would be a fool. My personal opinion, of course, is that you are priceless.

Here is something that may lift your spirits, though. Would you like a little poetry?

Your teasing mouth, your longing sighs,  
The warm skin of your inner thighs,  
Parted, bared, to kiss and bite,  
And fill you deeply with delight  
Memories stirring and sweet,  
To be renewed next time we meet.

Yes, I am afraid it is even worse than the last one I told you, which was even worse than the first. Still, that is the part which makes you smile, no?

Yours always,  
Z.

 

Hail from Ferelden, where I now rule over a pile of rubble.

I'm not sure how much news you hear of events here, so I will explain all. Vigil's Keep and the city of Amaranthine were both attacked by armies of darkspawn, orchestrated by an unnaturally self-aware broodmother. The keep's walls held, but losses were heavy amongst the soldiers. The city's walls did not hold, and many townsfolk were slaughtered before we managed to turn the battle's tide. So, not quite a 'pile of rubble', but a disaster nonetheless. It will take years to rebuild, even with the aid we've received.

Still, the darkspawn are truly routed now, so that is something to be glad of. And having your words to cheer me, I am also glad of that.

In a month or two, once I'm content for the seneschal to manage things, perhaps I shall come to you in Antiva. Before the start of Wintermarch, hopefully. Does that sound foolish? Even so, it pleases me to imagine setting these responsibilities aside for a time, and indulging my heart.

I am trying to be a fine leader, to choose actions which make people think better of the Grey Wardens, of mages, of elves. It feels like a duty, although nobody charged me with it. Maybe it's too ambitious, though. In time, the Hero of Ferelden will be forgotten, the way most humans have forgotten Garahel. Maybe I should resign myself to that, and simply live.

With love,  
your Warden.

 

Greetings from Antiva!

Ah, that is terrible. Would that I had been there to aid you, my sweet. I did not expect the darkspawn to remain such a problem after you slew the archdemon. Surely you are the best man to deal with such things, but it is no wonder you tire of them.

Come here, and let me whisk you off to the grandest hotel in Antiva City. We will drink rare wine and undress each other by firelight, and then the cries of pleasure I draw from you will be heard all the way back to Ferelden. You will be enchanted by this city, the delicacies and treasures in its markets and galleries, the bath houses where your cares will melt away. Not to mention, the weather is far better!

Of course, the Crows will catch up with me at some point, but if they attempt to take us both on, they are fools.

As for concerns over your legacy, you are a scholar, no? Write your own tale, and others will eagerly read it. And even if some forget, the Grey Wardens will remember. Apprentice mages will wonder if they are staying in the same quarters as you, learning from the same tomes. Elven children will be given your name, and told how you defied the slavers. You have already made a difference in this world, and should take pride in it.

Yours always,  
Z.

P.S. When writing, feel free to detail the many nights of passion you shared with a deadly, irresistible assassin. I shall not be embarrassed.

 

Hail from Ferelden. _Saludos de Ferelden?_

If I were more vulnerable to temptation, I'd be out on the Amaranthine Ocean already. Even on paper, you are a perilously charming man. And as you see, I've been practising Antivan, since none of the phrases _you've_ passed on are suitable for public use.

By the time you read this, it should almost be Satinalia – I hear it's celebrated vigorously over there. If you have no tales of dubious festival exploits, I will be disappointed. Something along the lines of _I infiltrated a private party to kill a duke, but ended up trapped in a drinking contest and awoke the next day in a rose bush. Fortunately, the duke took a morning stroll through his gardens, so I killed him with no more inconvenience than a few thorn scratches and a hangover!_ ...Or so I imagine.

Even in the Circle Tower, a little celebration was allowed, until the year some apprentices smuggled in a nug, and another tried to escape by stealing an inebriated templar's armour. Quite a commotion. Meanwhile, I was alone in the library, because that's how I behave when you're not around to make me be interesting. This year, I plan on using the time to check some trade paperwork for the Keep. Tragic, isn't it?

With love,  
your Warden.

 

Hail from Ferelden.

I've had no reply to my previous letter yet. Supposedly the shipping routes are slower at this time of year? Then again, there's always the chance a courier has been careless, or perhaps you've stirred up more trouble and are now halfway to Par Vollen in an attempt to evade it. I rather hope not, though.

The repairs here seem to be going well, although what I know about construction could not even fill one side of a brick. No sign of any more darkspawn. Can't say I miss them.

I do miss you. I miss your stories, outrageous jokes and clever remarks that would ease the tension of whatever predicament we found ourselves in. I miss the thrill of your touch, your warmth beside me at night, the happiness of waking each morning to your smile. Even if I had to trade my current chambers for a tent in the Frostbacks, it would be worthwhile if only you were there to share it. That's a powerful statement, as you know how much I hated camping.

With love,  
your Warden.

P.S. I've managed to secure a black-market book of Tevinter spells. My Tevene is rusty, but there are lots of helpfully explicit illustrations. I think you'll appreciate the results.

 

Hail from Ferelden.

Zevran, I've begun to worry. Your last letter was several months ago, and I know there are harmless reasons why this could be so, but...there are also darker reasons, and these plague my thoughts.

If Wintersend arrives without word from you, I'll come to Antiva. One way or another, I will find my way to your side again.

If my fears are well-founded, and this letter falls into someone else's hands, heed me: if Zevran Arainai is in your custody, keep him safe and you will have any ransom you wish. Harm him, and I swear your death will be a thing of nightmares.

The hand that pens this has slain an archdemon. Do you think yourself more formidable than an archdemon?

Warden-Commander Surana, Hero of Ferelden.


End file.
